


Where I Can’t Follow

by youalmostunearthlything



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Near Death Experiences, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youalmostunearthlything/pseuds/youalmostunearthlything
Summary: Alec learns the tales of people he has never met. People who were interesting and complicated and deeply flawed. People who loved Magnus, as he does.





	Where I Can’t Follow

It isn’t like Magnus to disappear.

The first time it happens, he’s gone for two whole days, with no more than an _I’m safe, be back soon_ as explanation. This isn’t the first time they’ve been apart, of course, but the lack of communication is startling.

True to his word, he does come back, acting all _Magnus_ with his slicked-back hair and sparkly eyelids and _Alexander this, Alexander that._ It’s easy to get sucked in to Magnus’ reality, mixed drinks and trading secrets on silk sheets, and soon Alec forgets all about it.

He trusts Magnus, though he doesn’t quite understand the sad way that Magnus looks at him when they go to sleep that night.

* 

It takes him a few years to notice a pattern.

He’s standing out on the balcony one evening, looking at the orange leaves on the oak trees in Brooklyn Bridge park, and his mind flashes back to the previous year, the same orange hue standing out in stark detail.

Mid-November. Beginning of March. Late July when the pavement is scorching and the air glimmers with heat.

Like clockwork, Magnus is gone, somewhere Alec can’t follow.

He knows Magnus will tell him when he’s ready.

*

Yet, it comes bursting out on a hot summer day as they lay on a blanket in Central Park, listening to a brass band play _When the Saints Go Marching In_ on loop.

Magnus leans over to feed him a spoonful of pomegranate seeds when he blurts out, “I know you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Magnus freezes, and he frowns ever-so-slightly. Not with disapproval, but… curiosity, maybe. _How do you know that?_

“It’s been two years,” Alec says, and though he doesn’t mean to sound accusing, the pain in his voice is evident. “Magnus, I trust you. You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but…” He looks down at his lap. “ _I’m_ ready. Whatever it is, I want to know.”

Magnus smiles sadly and places a hand on Alec’s cheek. “Please don’t worry about me, Alexander,” he says. “Just… enjoy all this.” He gestures to the grassy hill in front of them.

Alec meets Magnus’ gaze. “I want to help,” he says.

“You are,” Magnus replies, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I promise.”

*

It’s November again and the fallen leaves crunch underfoot as Alec stalks a hungry Ravener demon in the West Village. He tries not to think about Magnus leaving in a few days, but he can’t shake the sad anticipation of laying in bed alone, staring at the ceiling and wondering about the man he loves more than anything.

This makes it easy for the demon to sneak up on him.

It stings him twice in quick succession, once in the side and once in the shoulder, and he falls to the ground.

It’s almost like getting drunk; the venom makes its way through his system, and he soon loses feeling in his arm. The light is falling weirdly between the towering buildings, and everything is spinning, faster and faster. Alec wants to sleep, so badly, and in a moment of complete clarity, he thinks, _By the Angel, I’m going to die here._

It’s not so bad, dying. Alec thinks about Jace, and Izzy, and Max, and moments when they’d all laughed so hard their sides had hurt. He thinks about Magnus, and the way it felt to fall asleep next to him. If he has to go, then he’s glad this is his final thought.

*

He doesn’t die, of course. Izzy would never allow that.

He wakes up in the infirmary with his sister running vitals and Magnus clutching his hand.

Everything’s still a bit blurry, but he can see that Magnus’ eyes are red, and that he’s mouthing something. Alec squints, trying to make out the words. Only after a few seconds, when everything has come into focus, can Alec see Magnus saying   _thank god, oh, thank you god._

* 

“Would you... like to come with me?”

They’ve just gotten back to their apartment. Alec’s shoulder is still bandaged, but he can feel his arm again, so that’s something. “Come with you,” he repeats.

“Tomorrow,” Magnus says, and Alec finally remembers what day it is.

“Is this because I almost died?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“You _did_ die,” Magnus points out. “For a few minutes, at least. But… no. It’s not that. It’s just…” He shakes his head, taking Alec’s hand. “I know that I’m ready, Alexander.”

Alec squeezes Magnus’ hand. “You know I’d go anywhere with you, right?” he says, unable to stop himself from smiling as he looks at Magnus.

Magnus takes a step closer and presses his face into the crook of Alec’s neck. Alec wraps his good arm around Magnus’ shoulders and kisses his temple, and he feels Magnus smile against his chest.

*

They step out of the portal and into an alleyway, huddled tightly between two red brick buildings. The ground is unpaved, plain dirt, and puffy white clouds float in the sky like unravelled cotton balls.

Magnus straightens out his gray jacket before turning and leaving the alley. Out in the open, Alec sees that they’re in some sort of town -- a row of shops lines the paved pathway, and the signs are in a language he doesn’t know. It looks like French.

The path leads past the shops and out of the town, over a set of sprawling hills and towards a church whose bell tower overlooks the valley. Magnus starts along the path and Alec runs after him, taking his hand.

*

The church is further away than it appears, and they walk and walk. Alec sees the way Magnus’ jaw is tensed, and he doesn’t say anything.

*

They reach another town, just a cluster of houses surrounding the old stone church. There are angels carved into the large wooden doors, and Alec takes a moment to stare at them, his supposed ancestors. Magnus pauses too, letting him take in his surroundings. An old woman with a handkerchief over her hair passes by, and if she thinks it’s strange to see two men holding hands, she doesn’t say anything. Silently, she opens the church doors and goes inside.

“This way,” Magnus says, turning them to the left of the church, where an iron fence encloses an old graveyard.

Magnus steps up to the gate and holds it open for Alec, who raises his eyebrows as if to say _really, here?_ Magnus only nods, and Alec steps beyond the threshold.

*

There are different types of graves. Some have small headstones, worn completely smooth with the passage of time. Some are monuments, marked with intricate stone sculptures. Some bear the name of only one person, while others mark the final resting place of an entire family.

Magnus walks ahead of Alec, in between the rows of graves and along a path lined with willow trees. He leads them to the north-western side of the cemetery and stops when he reaches a black marble headstone. It’s polished, brighter than any other stone in the whole graveyard, and it’s engraved with large gold letters.

Alec turns to Magnus, then back to the grave marker, unsure. He kneels to read the writing on the stone:

 

_Juliette Rouault_

_Née: 17 novembre 1754_

_Morte: 25 décembre 1816_

 

When he turns to look up at Magnus, the warlock has conjured a bouquet of pink flowers. He kneels, too, laying the flowers in front of the headstone and hanging his head. Realization dawns on Alec.

“You… knew her?” he says, slowly.

Magnus nods, but he doesn’t look up.

“You loved her.”

Magnus nods again.

Alec reaches out and runs a finger along the engraving, feeling the sharp edges of the words under the pads of his fingers. “It’s her birthday,” he notes, looking down at the flowers.

“Chrysanthemums were always her favorite,” Magnus says, and he smiles, barely, for the first time that day.

Suddenly, Alec pictures a woman smiling as she bends down to smell one of the flowers. He pictures Magnus tucking it behind her ear. Was she kind? Smart? Did Magnus hold her, the way Alec was so used to being held? Did they lie awake at night, talking like they were the only two people left in the world? Did they fight for each other? Did they--?

“Alexander.”

Startled, Alec glances up to see Magnus looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He must be quite a sight to behold, visibly panicking as he stares open-mouthed at this tombstone. “Sorry,” he says, blinking a few times to clear his head.

“You’re freaked out,” Magnus says, and before Alec can respond, he stands up and dusts off his pants. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Magnus -- no!” Alec scrambles to his feet and grasps Magnus’ arm. “I’m not--I’m not freaking out.” He pauses. “Okay, maybe I am.”

Magnus turns away.

“Please, just--” Alec pulls Magnus’ arm, bringing him back. “It’s okay. Magnus, I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to compete with the ghosts of those who came before you,” Magnus whispers. “But Alexander, I can’t--”

“No, I get it,” Alec says. “You can’t forget them. I get it.”

Their gazes meet, and Alec isn’t sure what to say next. Over the past two years, he’s gotten good at picking apart his emotions, identifying them, talking about them. But he’s never had quite this many all at once. Is it possible to be both sad and happy at the same time? Proud, but jealous? And maybe it doesn’t really matter how he feels, anyway, because Magnus is standing right there, his soul bared, and Alec is too busy thinking about himself.

“Was she good to you?” he asks.

Magnus looks taken aback, as if he’d never even considered the question before.

“Yes,” he says finally. “She was.”

Taking Magnus by the hand, Alec leads him back to Juliette’s grave. He sits down.

“Tell me about her,” he says.

*

She was the daughter of Haitian refugees. Escaped slaves. Though she was the blacksmith’s apprentice, she loved the piano more than anything. When she got drunk, she would sing at the top of her lungs. Once, Magnus took her to the opera, and she cried with joy every time she so much as thought about it. She died of what would eventually be called tuberculosis, a disease to which warlocks are immune. A disease that Magnus would live to see cured. He paid for her tomb stone; her parents couldn’t afford it.

*

They both cry as they talk, and as each of Magnus’ tears lands on the ground beneath them, a chrysanthemum blooms in its place. By the time they’re ready to leave, the grave is a garden of blossoming flowers, their petals gently swaying in the wind like a bed of bright pink sea anemones.

*

“That’s going to be me one day.”

Alec says this as they’re walking back through the grassy hills, and while he’s no stranger to death (having been a warrior all his life), his own mortality has never felt quite so tangible.

“It might, yes,” Magnus replies.

“Might?” Alec frowns. “Magnus, I hate to break it to you, but eventually--”

Magnus sighs. “I don’t dispute your mortality, Alexander,” he says. “But mourning is complicated… I’m afraid that, when the day comes, I won’t have the right to. At least, not like this.”

“Okay, now I’m even more confused,” Alec says, stopping at the top of the hill. “Why wouldn’t you have the right to mourn me?”

Magnus pauses, a few feet in front of Alec. He turns around slowly, his eyes downcast. “Circumstances may arise,” he says, frowning. “If, for example, you decide you no longer want to be with me, and we’re no longer on speaking terms…”

“Magnus.” Alec closes the space between them and places a hand on Magnus’ cheek. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

“Is it so impossible to imagine?” Magnus replies with a sad chuckle.

“ _Yes,_ ” Alec says, because he’s never heard of anything quite so ridiculous. “Magnus, I’ve told you a thousand times: I am _not_ going anywhere. Until I die, I’m staying right here.”

“In France?” Magnus asks.

Alec rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. With you.”

Magnus won’t look him in the eye, so Alec places a finger under his chin. “Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

It takes a few seconds, but Magnus meets his gaze.

“She was so lucky to have you,” Alec says. “ _I’m_ so lucky--I…” He pauses. “Magnus, when I was dying, I wasn’t scared. My life has already been so much better than I ever could’ve imagined. That’s because of you.”

Magnus blinks, wide-eyed, and a single tear rolls down his cheek. Alec quickly wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m still here,” he says with a smile. “And I’ll keep being here, as long as I can. As long as you’ll have me.”

Magnus leans forward to kiss Alec, softly at first, then a bit harder, and Alec feels more alive than ever.

*

The door to the apartment opens, and Magnus steps in, his gelled hair dusted with a layer of fluffy snow.

Alec springs out of his chair and runs to his boyfriend, enveloping him in a warm hug. “Happy birthday!” he says.

“Have you been waiting all day to tell me that?” Magnus asks, grinning.

“You better freshen up,” Alec replies, turning to clean up some papers that he had scattered all over the coffee table. “Dinner reservations are at 8, and I’ve been told that this place is pretty fancy, so we can’t be late.” He raises his eyebrows.

“That was one time!” Magnus says indignantly. “Will you ever let me live that down?”

“The maitre-d chewed me out in front of the whole restaurant!” Alec replies, laughing. “After I’d begged them for a reservation and everything.”

“Maybe you should stop planning everything at the last minute,” Magnus retorts.

Alec sighs. “You’re right. Remind me tomorrow, and I’ll start planning for next year, okay?”

Magnus smirks and turns to look at himself in the mirror, meticulously removing each of his intricate jewelry pieces.

Once the coffee table is cleared, Alec sheepishly approaches Magnus. “I got you something,” he says.

Magnus turns around, his expression curious. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Alexander.”

From behind his back, Alec pulls out a potted flower, an elegant iris with a long stem and delicate purple petals. “It turns out there are a lot of different types of flowers,” he explains, “and I didn’t know which one was your favorite, but this one reminded me of you, so…” He carefully watches Magnus, who crouches down to observe the purple buds more closely. “I know it’s not much.”

“Oh, Alexander.” When Magnus stands back up, there are tears in his eyes. “It’s perfect.”

*

Magnus still disappears, sometimes.

Usually, he goes alone, but there are days when his magic is low, or when he simply can’t muster the energy to step through the portal all by himself. Those are the days when Alec takes his hand and they go together.

Alec learns the tales of people he has never met. People who were interesting and complicated and deeply flawed. People who loved Magnus, as he does.

Alec thinks that, if he had known them, he might have loved them, too.

If he has to die one day, he is happy to know that Magnus Bane keeps on living, telling the stories of those he loves fiercely, loyally, unendingly.

*

With some magical encouragement, the iris blooms for many years.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://you-almostunearthlything.tumblr.com)! :)


End file.
